


Sport and Sunshine

by Allekha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Language of Flowers, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Making Out, Pre-Canon, Rivalry, Sleeping Together, Summer, Training Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-24 10:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19722073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/pseuds/Allekha
Summary: Victor comes to Switzerland for a training camp one summer and stays with Chris. They pick flowers, practice together, enjoy the pretty countryside, and spend a lot of time making out.





	Sport and Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heavenly_Pearl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Pearl/gifts).



It's not difficult to spot Victor at the airport, especially after he spots Chris and comes running toward him shouting his name. He barely comes to a halt and lets go of his suitcase before hugging him, and it's the kind of hug where Chris has to catch him to help keep both of them on their feet. Victor beams when he pulls away. "You cut your hair! It suits you."

"Thanks!" It's short on the sides now, just long enough on the top for it to curl. He's not sure he'll keep it this way for the season yet, but he does like how it looks. "And so did you, right?"

"You can tell?" Victor goes wide-eyed and leans back, tugging on a lock of his hair. "Even Yakov and Georgi never notice when I get a haircut!"

"It looks different around your face." If it's lost any length overall, Chris can't tell, but Victor has a fringe now, and there's shorter locks in front. Otherwise, it's the same as ever – long and shiny and smooth, just a touch of wave today, the color looking odd in the airport lighting. He looks far more put-together than anyone should after being on a plane, but at least it's not that long of a flight from Russia. (And if Chris has learned anything about the effort Victor puts into his appearance, he probably did stop to at least comb his hair after getting off the plane.)

Victor is chatty as they head out of the airport, and Chris is happy to chat right back. They have plenty of time to talk – Victor has come a few days early for a skating camp they're both participating in, so they'll be together for a while – but it's also been a couple of months since they've even exchanged messages. Victor's been busy with more shows than Chris, and Chris has kept his schedule full, too.

They're staying with Chris's parents before the camp starts, and as soon as they arrive and Victor sees dinner waiting for them, he promptly loses all interest in their conversation in favor of the food. Chris always likes watching Victor eat good food. He makes these small, weird noises and he looks so happy stuffing bites into his mouth, a big smile on his face and going all the way up to his eyes. It's cute. It doesn't take long for him to charm his parents, either, given the compliments he pays to their cooking.

Afterward, Chris takes him to his old room. It's a little odd for him to see it now, with the walls bare and most of his things gone. "I like it," Victor says anyway, going to the window to peer out over the garden with the last of the light fading, then turning to collapse on the pile of blankets on the floor. "But you're making me sleep on the floor? Chris, that's mean."

"Well, if you want to squeeze into the bed," Chris says, sitting on it and half meaning the words, and Victor laughs and immediately springs up to take the invitation. Chris isn't sure whether to be surprised or not while Victor lays down along the edge of his bed, hooking his legs to avoid Chris. Victor's the exact kind of weirdo who would.

Victor stays on the bed, though he sits up after a minute, as they talk until late, later than they ever could at a competition where they have to get up early enough to skate. When they're both yawning, Victor stretches out next to Chris. The bed is too narrow for it to be very comfortable, but they do both fit, especially after Victor decides to move closer and put his head on Chris's chest.

"You like to move fast, huh," says Chris. "We haven't even kissed yet."

"You're the one who invited me," says Victor. He yawns again. "Did you not mean it? I hate sleeping alone."

"You do?"

Victor nods into his chest. "It's hard to fall asleep at competitions sometimes, and then Yakov always complains that he has to come in and wake me up even though I'm twenty and should be able to get up on my own. But at home, Makkachin always sleeps with me. I miss her already! She's like a giant plushie, she's so soft and she lets me hug her all night and she's the warmest, fluffiest dog you'll ever meet. You should meet her sometime. You'll love her."

"Ah," says Chris. "I'm the substitute for the dog."

"You're substituting for the _best dog_ in the _world_ , Chris, you should be honored."

"I'm hurt, Victor. You're sleeping with one of the most handsome men in the country and you're thinking of your first love instead."

Victor shakes against him with mirth, twining his fingers into Chris's shirt.

So they sleep together. In the most literal sense. Chris regrets it a little when he wakes up the first morning to find that Victor's drooled on him, but at least that doesn't happen again.

And it's fun to see Victor waking up each morning. Chris likes to get up and get going; Victor never seems to want to be awake at first. He buries his head under the blankets, or looks mournfully up at Chris when he nudges him. When he's first woken up, his hair is messy, his eyes sticky, and that's cute, too. Chris likes the polished-up version of Victor, and he likes this one he's never seen before.

They spend their first two days being busy together doing touristy things, at Victor's insistence, and on the third day they go hiking, but on the fourth, they're both content to laze around the house. After watching a movie on Victor's laptop, flopped together on Chris's bed, the afternoon sunlight finally calls them out into the garden.

Chris's parents both like gardening, and at this time of year, the area around the house is full of flowers. They amuse themselves for a few minutes with Victor pointing at the blooms and asking Chris what they're called. Chris stops to touch some of the roses, and when he looks up again, Victor has wandered off to the sprawling magnolia tree and is staring up at it contemplatively.

Chris snaps off the rose he's touching – probably should have used shears, but oh, well – and goes over to join him. "Here," he says, showing Victor the branches he always used to climb up into the tree as a kid. It's not blooming at this time of year, but the canopy of leaves is nice and shady, and the branches are sturdy enough to hold a couple of teenagers above the grass.

"Here," he says again, holding the rose out to Victor when he's settled next to Chris, their legs touching as their feet dangle near each other.

Victor takes it, but then he frowns. "Only one?"

He's obviously just teasing, glancing up at Chris from under his eyelashes, and Chris goes with it. "If you're going to complain, I'll go down and get you another one, but only one more."

"That would be even _worse_."

"Maybe I _should_ get you one," Chris muses, though he doesn't actually believe in the superstition about giving an even number of flowers. "It's not cheating to wish your opponent bad luck, is it?"

Victor kicks him. "It's unsporting," he says. "Besides, in Russia, it's for when people have died. So it would be like saying you want me to die."

"I definitely don't want you to die. I can't win over you if you're dead." Victor kicks him again. Chris kicks him back. "What does the color mean?" Victor probably knows. Chris can never remember stuff like that, though his parents used to tell him stories about the flowers and what they meant when he was a kid. Victor's frown falls off as he looks at the rose.

It's a lovely shade of pink, and Victor pronounces, "Pink ones are for admiration and grace. And I think happiness? And also love, but not as much as red ones." He twirls it around between his fingers. "It's pretty." Victor looks at from the corner of his eye, and his voice goes teasing again. "So, Chris, do you like me?"

"I like you," says Chris, and Victor smiles and tucks his head down on Chris's shoulder, still looking at the rose.

He does like Victor. He likes him as a competitor; he has interesting programs and he skates beautifully, and now that Chris has really found his feet as a skater, he's looking more and more forward to standing above Victor on the podium some day, rather than below him. He likes him as a friend, and they've gone on some interesting adventures together, getting lost in Canada and visiting hot springs in Japan. And he likes him as....

Chris doesn't have the same crush that he used to have on Victor, back before he got to know him and spent time around him with his usual charm turned off. Victor turned out to be less ethereal after watching him take an agonizingly long time to pick out souvenirs for his sick rink mates in a shop in Italy, or seeing him slip into visible annoyance after a press conference where nobody asked anything but stupid questions.

But the attraction has remained. Victor has figure skating's prettiest face, and one of its best asses, though Chris wouldn't quite put it at the top if he had to rank them. And with Chris, he's always been kind of touchy-feely, too, leaning into Chris when it's cold and things like that.

Not that it has to mean anything. It's not cold right now, though, and Victor's warm and still, contemplating his flower, not reacting when Chris wraps an arm over his shoulders.

They sit like that for a few minutes, balancing on the branch. Chris is torn between appreciating the nice day and thinking of how it feels to hold Victor against him and wondering if this is the right moment to try to kiss him. Before he can make up his mind, Victor says, "I had an interview once where the journalist said something like, since your favorite flower is roses, you must be happy to receive them at competitions, and I was really confused. They're pretty, but not my favorite."

"They're _my_ favorite. Which one do you like best, then?"

"I don't have a favorite flower," Victor says. "They're all pretty! Or a favorite food. I like trying everything."

"I know you have a favorite color," says Chris, and they chime in unison: "Gold!"

Victor laughs at that.

Chris is ready to jump down – his butt is starting to go numb from sitting here – but before he pulls Victor down with him, he takes the flower back and carefully snaps off the thorns. Then he slips it behind Victor's ear. He likes the blue ones better, but the pink is nice on him, too.

Victor lands more softly on the grass than Chris does, and his hand goes up to check that the rose is still in place. He smiles when he notices Chris looking. "I like it," he says again. "You should get one, too. Are there different colors? Pink won't suit you."

Chris takes him back to the rose bushes and lets him use whatever knowledge of color theory he has. The roses are mostly pink and white, but there's one bush with deep red blossoms, and Victor spends a minute looking over the flowers to pick the nicest one.

He looks pleased with himself when he slides it behind Chris's ear. "You look very handsome," he says.

"Thank you," he replies, leaning in to kiss Victor's cheek, making him grin. And without moving too far, he asks, teasing back, "Does this mean you _really_ like me?"

"Hm," goes Victor, putting a finger under his chin. "You _are_ fun to travel with, and I like talking with you. And I guess you got kind of cute lately."

" _K_ _ind of_?" He puts on a hurt expression.

"You did get tall," Victor says, rocking up on his toes to make up the couple of centimeters Chris has grown on him. "And you've always had nice eyes." (He once asked Chris what he put on his eyelashes. They're like that naturally.) "Your skating, too, like, last season you were so intense and confident, and I liked just watching you move. Maybe not _kind of,_ then, it's just – Chris, you've _seen_ Lambiel, right?"

"Ah, I see." He heaves a dramatic sigh. "There's only room for one Swiss man in your heart, and I've been beaten to it."

"Oh, come here," says Victor, in a huff, and he grabs Chris and he kisses him.

It's almost over before Chris has realized what's happening, Victor pulling away to give him a look. Chris blinks off the last of his surprise – Victor does like those, huh – and kisses him back, determined to make this one better.

Victor's shirt is soft under Chris's hands, and his long fingers are strong where they grip Chris, and his chapstick smears over both their mouths until Chris pauses to wipe it off. It does make his lips really soft to kiss, though.

They pause when a breeze blows Victor's hair in both of their faces. Victor blows out an exasperate breath as he hastily brushes it back, annoyance tilting his eyebrows, but Chris is pleased to see that his cheeks are almost as pink as the rose still above his ear.

"Let's do that again," says Victor, and Chris is happy to do so. To lean in when Victor pulls on his wrist, to touch his jaw and open his mouth against his, to tuck his arm into the small of Victor's back. Victor's touch is often cool, but now he's warm in the sunshine, wriggling into each of Chris's touches.

Before long, Victor pushes him to the grass and climbs into his lap, and Chris likes this angle, too, one that has Victor's long hair falling around them. It tickles against his arms as Victor leans down to kiss him again. He likes the cute, curious noises Victor makes, when Victor tries something new, and the deeper ones he makes when Chris does something he enjoys.

Victor puts his hands on Chris's cheeks and leans over him to kiss him again and again, moving his touch every minute – Chris's shoulders, his arms, his face again, his hair, the skin under the back of his shirt. He lets Chris touch everywhere too, as they kiss shallower and deeper, until Chris's body is hot and his lips are on fire.

Finally, Victor leans back and Chris doesn't chase him, both of them breathing hard. "You're good at this," Victor pants.

Chris is. He's better at kissing than Victor, actually, with Victor applying his usual intensity to their kisses but not always seeming to know what to do until Chris does it first. It's enjoyable to already be better at something than Victor is, even if making out is far easier than quads.

It's still a lot of fun, too, and he can't help but smile and reach out to kiss Victor's neck despite how his lips hurt.

Victor makes a pleased noise and tips backward onto the grass, pulling Chris on top of him. Chris puts his head on Victor's chest and they rest for a little while, watching the birds hop around and the clouds blow in. They've been close together like this before – Victor does seem to like using him as a pillow – and Chris has even slipped his fingers up Victor's shirt previously, when they've been sleepy or tipsy. He hasn't put his lips to Victor's skin like this, though, softly kissing his collarbone, or the skin under his ear.

It's really relaxing, laying here with Victor, and the heat makes him sleepy. He jumps hard when a voice calls his name from the house – his parents are apparently home and wondering if he and Victor are going to eat dinner with them.

Chris groans and sits up so he call back. He starts to get up, but Victor says, "We're not eating _yet_ ," and he tugs on Chris's shirt. He's right; so Chris leans down and kisses him even though his lips are still store. It's a soft kiss, and Victor moans and wraps his arms around Chris's shoulders.

When they finally do have to go in to eat, Victor sits up and shakes his hair out, then immediately starts complaining about all the grass caught in it. "It looks fine," says Chris, but he helps Victor comb it out anyway, and they fix each other's flowers.

They make it through dinner and other distractions and back to Chris's room, and the flowers go into an old jam jar. By now, it's late enough that the sun is setting, though most of the sky outside is blocked out by clouds. There's just a sliver of the sky visible at the edge of the dark clouds, a bright, pale lavender color.

"I think it's going to rain," says Victor, craning his head out the window.

Chris quietly moves Victor's laptop off his bed and smooths the rumpled covers, all by touch, since Victor's blocking most of the light still coming in. Then he slips up behind him and wraps his arms around him. "Sure looks like it," he says, propping his chin on Victor's shoulder.

Just as he says it, thunder rumbles in the distance, and the wind picks up. "Ooh," says Victor. "Same something mysterious and ominous!"

Chris thinks for a moment. "I see something cold and dark in your future." The Russian winter, of course.

Victor sticks his hand out the window, and a few seconds later, he pulls it back in. There's a water drop on it, small, barely visible in the dim light. "You're a witch," he says with a grin.

"I have better spells than that to cast," says Chris. The line is cheesy, but he follows it with a kiss to Victor's forehead, running his hands down his arms, and Victor lights up anyway.

They go back to the bed and they go back to making out until they've exhausted each other again. They lay back against the pillow, and Chris plays with Victor's hair as they listen to the rain. His lips hurt again, but it's worth it. Victor's getting better at kissing already.

"I feel like we've hardly talked about skating at all since I got here," Victor says with a laugh. "It's kind of weird."

That's true; they've talked about the camp, gossiped some about other skaters, but they've been busy with other things, and there's only so much to talk about in the off-season. It's not like there's been any big drama or rule changes this year to chew on endlessly.

"It's almost like we're _normal_ ," Chris says, in a tone of mock horror, and Victor grins at him.

"It's fun being normal for a few days," he says. "Skating makes it hard."

"Did your friends from school use to shake their heads when you showed them your schedule, too? They thought I was crazy for training so many hours."

"I didn't really go to school," Victor says. Chris blinks at him, confused. "I didn't – what's the word – I didn't stop learning! God, I would've been lectured for _days_ if I'd asked, Lilia was always making me do my homework. But mostly I studied on my own. Sometimes with tutors. It was easier. Georgi went to a normal school, though. He said he liked how it was so different from the rink. And I don't really have time to spend all day with people from university."

Oh. So that sounds like no school friends, then. Chris liked how different school was from the rink, too. He enjoyed studying some of his subjects, and when he was frustrated with his progress on the ice, it was grounding to listen to his friends talk about games and celebrities and other sports. There were so many things they cared about that had nothing to do with the tiny world of skating.

"And your rink friends get it, since they're crazy too."

"Yeah, Georgi did. His schedule was always way busier than mine," says Victor. "I don't know how he found time to date girls, too."

Chris doesn't know Georgi very well, but he's talked to him a few times. "If he cared, I guess he put in the effort to have that time. Good for him. Sometimes when you're training so hard, when you have a day off, you just want to lay in bed all day." Chris did find time for socializing, but not a ton. Too busy training and traveling.

"He must be good at scheduling himself. Yakov never has to yell at _him_ for being late to the rink at competitions. And then after the Olympics, I was super busy with all kinds of things, so I definitely didn't have time to hang out with anyone, which – it was fun! I'm not complaining." He chuckles, tugging at Chris's shirt. "The attention's amazing. But also, random fans would just go up to me on the street and things like that, and a few of them were weird about it. But most of them were nice! Yakov worried about me all the time until people started to forget."

Victor's win was the highlight of one of the most popular winter Olympic sports. Victor has a distinctive appearance. Victor is very pretty to look at. Victor was still seventeen. Chris can see his coach being cautious about him gathering a lot of public attention.

"That's only happened to me at competitions." And only in the last couple of years. People are taking notice of him. It's a good sign.

"I bet you'll be really popular after the Olympics," Victor says. He puts on a smirk. "You'll be our new silver medalist, won't you?"

"Excuse me, _gold_. You can have silver. You already had your gold. It'll make a nice story for the journalists." They love those stories about rivals who are also friends. They don't even need to be real friends, from what Chris has read, but it probably makes a better one when they are, like he and Victor.

"I guess we'll have to fight it out then." He snuggles into Chris. "I do miss skating. The camp starts the day after tomorrow, right?"

Chris nods; they'll be traveling there tomorrow and meeting the other skaters. Then they'll be back to the lives that are normal for them: spending hours on the ice, then more time in the gym, the dance studio, trying to become more strong, more flexible, more perfect in every way. Back to pleasantly sore muscles instead of the laziness that soaks Chris's limbs now. He can't wait.

And all that with Victor. That will be new. Chris has never skated with him in a real training environment. Victor was shocked to learn that he didn't train with Lambiel (or any of the other few relevant Swiss skaters). Chris is actually the oldest of his training mates, and certainly the most advanced. His rink has a laid-back atmosphere, but camps are different, and having Victor around will be different still.

Victor yawns, then apparently decides he's ready for sleep, as he turns over and tugs Chris against him. "You're really good at cuddling," he murmurs.

"Thanks?"

"I mean it! You're _almost_ as good for snuggling as Makkachin is."

"Victor."

"And I like the kissing. It's very good." He says the words in a soft voice. It almost sounds shy, though Victor's never shy.

That's a better thing to hear. He shifts his ankle between Victor's and moves his arm to a more comfortable position, then squeezes. Victor makes a soft, contented sound. He makes another when Chris brushes aside enough of Victor's hair to press a kiss beneath his ear. "Good night, then," says Chris, and he sleeps soundly and deeply until a storm wakes them in the morning.

~!~

Chris has skated with Victor enough times before – at practice sessions at competitions, at galas, at ice shows – that he thinks he knows what to expect.

Victor in competition practice sessions works seriously, in-between going up to his coach and completely breaking that serious character. Chris doesn't know much Russian, but just overhearing Victor's tone makes it clear that he whines at his coach a lot, and he brushes off any yelling for, presumably, not doing as he's supposed to. Or for doing ridiculous things that won't help him in competition at all. And Victor in ice shows is light-hearted. He likes to take pictures with the other skaters in the practice sessions, and he chats easily with everyone.

Victor in a real practice session, at the camp, is focused and works hard. When they have any free time on the ice, Victor doesn't waste it. Sometimes Chris can exchange a few words with him when he goes to the boards for a drink of water, but there's not much other opportunity.

It's not a bad thing. Ice time is limited. Chris finds his own focus sharpening after just a few days of being on the same ice as Victor. If he wants to keep up, he has to be able to practice like that, too. He's not sure he would want to keep it up for every session, every day – and even Victor does make the occasional joke or complaint during the camp lessons – but he thinks he could stand to be more serious. He's committed to making a career out of this sport, for as long as his body will hold up to it. He might as well work like it.

"You seem like you're in your own world when you're practicing by yourself," Chris tells him one day, and Victor considers it.

"I love skating," he says. "It's like magic. You feel it too, right? Like there's this... a glittering world and you're free in it, showing it off."

Chris gets it. There's nothing like blades gliding on ice, nothing as exciting as performing for an audience, and nothing as refreshing as the rink in summer.

Victor's love for skating is most apparent in this one habit he has. At the end of their last sessions, he likes to let his hair down and just skate. No exercises, no big jumps, only bits of choreography, like he's skating to music only he can hear. He often gets so swept up in it that Chris has to nudge him off the ice. (Victor likes to do jumps or edgework up until the very last second, too. Chris is sure that the Zamboni driver hates him, after the number of times he has to beep at him to get off.)

Chris likes watching him like this. Both because of the prettiness of his movements, and to study.

There's one day during the second week where Victor is especially lovely. He does a slow, high kick, holds it for a moment as he glances over his shoulder, then turns into a spiral on the same foot, his hair falling forward as he dips into the arabesque. When he comes out of it, he goes into a slow spin, his torso tipped back and his hair flaring out, until he grabs the blade of his free foot and arches back to pull his foot above his head.

It's a little wonky, the stability of his spin suffering for it. Chris has never been flexible enough for it, but Victor's other coach is famous for her opinion on flexibility. So Victor gets moves like this, and he does them well enough.

The thing about Victor's skating isn't just that he's pretty. Most figure skaters are pretty, or handsome. Looking good isn't a written requirement of the sport, but it helps. Victor has something more than that: charisma.

Some people call it things like the _it factor_ , and say it can't be taught. Chris doesn't know if he has it or not, but he thinks it can be learned. And if so, he wants to learn it. He wants to be a crowd-pleaser, and he wants the judges' eyes to linger on him. How can he show off in a way that makes them look?

Anyone can look nice under a gala spotlight in a sparkly costume. It's harder to be as eye-catching as Victor in practice clothes and the plain lighting of a normal rink. Chris watches him skate and tries to figure out what it is. There's the smoothness of his movements. The details he has, dancing all the way to his fingertips. The way he tries variations on old moves, and does the standard things well. The way he gazes out to the invisible spectators. The air of sureness he has – Victor is never guessing at what he's going to do next, even when he looks like he's improvising.

Confidence. Chris has never been shy about his abilities, but he's losing the last of his nerves now that he's discovering his own style and his jumps are more stable. He can try to show it better. He and Josef are experimenting with new things for him, but he can make more suggestions, make his skating more his own. Chris writes down other ideas to talk about with Josef after the camp, things he can to do to improve further.

Victor takes a rare break one day after a streak of jumps to watch Chris practicing his quad salchow; he can land it most of the time now, after a lot of work and a lot of falls, and today he does particularly well with it. "It looks really good!" Victor says. "Are you going to add a toe loop this season?"

"I don't know. We'll see." In truth, he's never liked toe loops, and work on the quad version hasn't gone very well so far. Chris is starting to wonder if he'd be better off skipping to the quad lutz. Nobody's ever landed one in competition yet; he could be the first. "Are you adding anything?"

"Not quads. Just a new combo. But Yakov said maybe we can start on the flip! And then maybe the lutz, but not until after the Olympics, he says, and someday I want to do the loop, too. Yakov keeps saying I'll be dead from jumping, but I want to do _all_ of them."

So long as he doesn't hurt himself, with ambition like that. But if anyone can do it, it will be Victor. (Chris is definitely getting the lutz first, though.) "Even the axel?"

"I haven't said anything about a quad axel," says Victor. "I think Yakov might have a heart attack. We'll see. If I get the others, it's the obvious thing to try, right? I kind of want to, just to prove it's possible." He grins.

Victor does have a very strong axel. He shows Chris his new combo: triple axel, triple loop. It's elegant, with the loop lacking the toe-strike of the usual toe loop.

"Nobody's ever done that before, have they?"

"Actually, they have," Victor says with a sigh. "Another Russian and some Canadian guy. But I don't think either of them did it very much. Mine's better. After I practice it some more, I'm going to put another loop on there, too. Nobody's done _that_ before."

Chris can't help but raise an eyebrow at that, but Victor always talks about his skating like this: big plans for new programs and new technical abilities. Not everything comes to fruition, but enough does that it gives Chris a lot to think about for his own future.

He might still be trying to match Victor on jumps, but at least in the camp's spinning classes, he comes out ahead of Victor, and usually everyone else, too.

"Did you take lessons from Lambiel or something?" Victor asks one night, sitting on Chris's bed and pouting. Chris, fussing with his hair in the mirror, rolls his eyes.

"What, do you think he invented Swiss spinning? Biellmann was Swiss, too, you know." Not a lot of people have a spin position named after them – he's not sure anyone else does, actually – let alone one as iconic as her tulip-shaped spin. It's a nice point of pride for a small federation. "The world record holder for fastest spins is, too."

"Oh my god," Victor groans. He flops against the wall. "Is it the water? Will drinking it make mine better?"

"Mm, I don't think I'm allowed to tell you," Chris says, though really there's no mystery to it. He doesn't know about the older skaters, but for him it's just practice and inspiration. Watching people representing his own country with fantastic spins made him feel like there was a tradition to uphold. Beside, they're fun to work on.

Victor hops off his bed, the frown suddenly gone from his mouth, and skips over to hug Chris from behind. "What if I bribed you?" he asks, hands slipping low on Chris's hips.

Chris plays along, going, "Hmmm," like he's not convinced. Victor kisses his neck, his ticklish ears, his hands roaming up and down, until Chris doesn't feel like holding out any longer.

They spend the remainder of their evening in Chris's bed together. They've spent pretty much every night in Chris's bed together, even when all they do is sleep after a hard day of workouts and practice.

Chris enjoys getting to hold him all the time – Victor is still a skinny thing, all muscle and bone, but his skin is soft, and so is his hair when Chris buries his face in it. He can put up with the annoyances: the way that the long hairs tend to end up in his mouth, how Victor squirms and kicks off the covers, how it sometimes gets hot on the warmer nights. It's worth it for how Victor likes to snuggle against him and kiss him awake in the mornings. He's warm and responsive and so happy to let Chris touch. And he makes great expressions when Chris kisses him until they're both breathing hard, too.

Most days, they hang out with the other skaters after practices are done, eating dinner with them, maybe playing an impromptu game of football that none of them are good at. Sometimes Victor heads off with a different group than Chris does, but he always crawls into Chris's bed at some point, no matter how late he comes back.

There's one evening, though, when they don't have practice the next morning, and the weather is clear and cool. Chris pulls Victor outside once it's late enough that it starts getting dim, for a surprise picnic.

"This would be better in Russia," says Victor, fussing with the picnic blanket to make the folds nicer as they walk along the road. "I've taken Makkachin on picnics during the White Nights before. You should come visit during them. It's really cool to walk around when it's so late and it's still light out."

"When is it?"

"July... something? Maybe you could come back to Russia with me. Yakov would let you skate at our rink!"

"Maybe," says Chris. He does have a lot of work to do. The Olympics are next year; he has to do everything he can to prepare. Running off to Russia for a holiday with Victor sounds like a lot of fun, but he doesn't know if he has the time.

Chris leads them to a pretty meadow, and they find a nice spot away from any paths. There's some bugs out, but nothing too bothersome, and no people. They have bread and butter to eat, and while Victor has said that the bread in Russia is better and healthier, Chris sees him scarf it down all the same. For dessert, there's fresh berries that stain their fingertips red, and when they're all gone, Victor sucks on his fingers, probably trying to get the color off.

It gives Chris ideas. He puts them on pause for just a minute, reaching into the very bottom of the bag that he used to carry the food. "Close your eyes," he says. Victor sits up a little straighter and complies, tilting his head to the side curiously. "Now open your mouth."

"Ooh," says Victor, and he leaves his lips open after the sound ends. Chris pulls out his surprise – a few pieces of chocolate. They have diets, sure, but they have to live a little, and he knows Victor will always go after a free sweet.

Victor makes the most amazing face when Chris slides the chocolate into his mouth. One hand goes up to his chin, like he's afraid it will fall out, and his closed eyes turn up at the corners with his smile. He takes his time savoring it, and when he's finished, he opens his eyes and his grin lights up his whole face.

Chris is still holding the little box of chocolates, and Victor reaches over to pluck one out and return the favor. It's sweet, the flavor rich and going to all the corners of his mouth, thick and so delicious he has to let it melt and go down slowly, as Victor did. Victor's fingers don't quite make it away from his mouth, and Chris kisses them.

They feed each other the rest of the chocolates, and then Chris leans over to push Victor to the blanket and put their lips together. The remaining flavors of the chocolate mingle in their mouths as they kiss. It's still not completely past twilight yet, but it's slowly getting there, and Victor seems to glow against the dark blanket beneath him.

Chris puts his ideas to good use; he kisses Victor slowly but deeply, then gives him a few light kisses to his face before moving down his body and undoing his belt.

Victor stays mostly quiet when Chris wraps his mouth around him, though there isn't anyone to hear them. But it seems to be a near thing – god, the way he wriggles against Chris drives him crazy. He bucks his hips, then stills them; he doesn't seem to know what to with his knees, squeezing them against Chris and shifting them. He keeps moving his legs so much that Chris eventually takes a momentary break to wrap Victor's legs around him, and they stay there, at least, though his ankles cross and uncross.

And the small noises he does make, muffled by his wrist, only make Chris want to hear more of them. He especially likes Victor's voice when he's close, how it loses its usual smoothness, how his own name slips out around Victor's hand, how the pitch of it goes higher as he gets closer and closer. His free hand keeps grabbing Chris's hair, which hurts and not in a good way, but he keeps letting go, too.

When Victor finishes, Chris is already turned on enough that there's not a lot of room for conscious thought, but thankfully Victor doesn't wait long to yank him back up and touch him in return. It's not the _greatest_ it could be, but it's still pretty amazing, and Chris is hardly going to complain. Not when Victor holds him tightly and puts his hand right where Chris wants it, and Chris doesn't think of anything but his touch until he hits his own peak.

They don't say anything for a long time, afterward. Chris rolls over on the blanket, and Victor tucks into his side, and they stare at the sky together, watching the stars gradually fade into view. Chris's contacts itch in his eyes; he's had them in for too long. He should see what Victor thinks about glasses sometime.

It's peaceful. He pets Victor's shoulder absentmindedly and lets his mind wander. Even out in the open, it's like there's this bubble made by the long grass of the meadow and the sky far above them, leaving a space for just the two of them. It's hard to think about tomorrow with its more relaxed schedule, let along anything beyond that. No competitions, no scores, no Olympics, just Victor's breath on his skin and the nature around them.

"You should come visit me in Russia," Victor finally says. "Yakov's having a summer camp, too, after this one. You should come – you can stay with me."

"I don't know." Yakov Feltsman is a good coach – clearly, anyone with eyes could look at Victor and understand that, and Georgi is a skilled competitor, too. Chris doesn't know if he'd do well with his coaching style, though. He likes how Josef never yells at him.

"Please? I'm thinking of moving into my own apartment, the one the government gave me for my Olympic medal—" (and doesn't that put a nice stab of jealousy into Chris's heart that he has to tamp down) "—but I don't know how to decorate it. Like, I have a general idea, I've been looking at all these design magazines, but I don't know what exactly to put up. You could help."

"I can take you to a souvenir shop before you leave. We'll buy you the tackiest cowbell they have."

Victor peers up and gives him a blank look. "Cowbell? What?"

Usually Victor is all-in for these kinds of cute traditions. Chris doesn't know how this one has slipped by him. "They're a traditional craft here. And we'll find, I don't know, some painting of little boys and girls in old-fashioned clothes picking edelweiss."

"And a copy of Heidi," Victor adds with a laugh. "I do have a lot of bookshelves to fill."

"Coffee-table books of alpine meadows."

"A watch almost too expensive to wear!"

"I think we'd need an extra stop for a nice one. How about a cuckoo clock? Maybe we can find one with a little poodle."

"Okay, I _would_ buy that if we ever saw it." Victor grins and rolls on top of Chris. "Come on, help me in person. Please? All I have so far are the matryoshka from my grandma and some little souvenirs from traveling and pictures of Makkachin. Oh, and the medals. Your parents have a lovely house, surely you inherited their good taste. And you can meet Makkachin properly, and we can practice more together!"

And they could see each other more this summer, spend extra time together before the season begins and they'll go weeks and months between competing at the same competitions. It's tempting. But Chris isn't going to make a decision like that on his own, and not right this minute; Victor can get away with doing whatever he wants and talking his way out of disasters, but Chris is going to consult with Josef before he decides anything. "Let me talk with my coach first."

Victor slumps onto his chest with a big sigh. Chris pats his back.

He keeps whining at Chris for a while, but when Chris doesn't fold, he eventually gives in, and they turn to other conversation, quiet.

"We could sleep out here," Victor says, when Chris suggests they return.

"We could," says Chris, but he doesn't really want to. Victor has him for a pillow, but the ground isn't comfortable. "But there might be bugs."

Victor makes a face. That's enough to get him to agree to go back.

The next evening, Chris checks his email and finds a message from Yakov Feltsman, inviting him to the camp more officially. Victor must have talked with him; he must really want him to go, then. Chris texts Josef and they arrange some time to talk when they both have a free moment tomorrow.

When Victor swoops into the room, he's all bright eyes. He barely says anything, digging right into his skating bag for his notebook and taking a minute to frantically scribble something in one of the pages. He has a funny expression on, his mouth twisted up to one side and his eyes squinting in concentration. Or maybe because he's not sitting anywhere near the window. Chris turns a lamp on for him.

"There!" Victor flops onto Chris's bed, and Chris goes to sit next to him and peer over his shoulder. "What do you think?"

It's a costume design. It's hard to translate the black and greys of the drawing into what it might look like in real life, but for what it is, it looks nice. A little bit like the costume Victor was wearing the first time they met, a staggered gradient shading across the chest. "I like it. Kind of feathery. You aren't doing _Swan Lake_ again, are you?"

"No," Victor says, looking offended at the mere suggestion that he might repeat music. When Chris promises not to tell anyone what he's skating to, Victor finds his MP3 player to show him the song, too. Dramatic, classical, dark with a lighter section in the middle – Chris can't immediately identify it, so it's probably not one of the common pieces used in skating, but he guesses it's Russian. "We still have to cut the music, but I can't wait to skate to it! Have you chosen yet?"

"Not for sure. There's this one, though...." They listen to that, too. It's unusual for skating music, harsher than anything else Chris has skated to before; it's not super out there, though. He's been listening to it more and more often this summer, circling back to it and trying to imagine skating to it. He'd have to commit to it – it's not music to skate gingerly to. Maybe he should use it because of that.

He realizes as they listen that he wants Victor to tell him to go for it, and he's not disappointed. "You should definitely skate to this," Victor declares when the song ends. "It's cool! And you'll stand out from everyone else. Like, with programs with this music, you won't be just that other Swiss skater, and you can prove that you aren't cute little Chris anymore."

And both of those are exactly what Chris wants. To stand up, to stand out. "I'll send it to my coach and choreographer, then."

Victor beams at him and sets his head on Chris's shoulder. "The same one as last year?"

"No, the one who made my show programs this summer. He's an ice dancer. It was really easy to work with him."

"That's good. I liked your show programs," says Victor. "You seemed like you were a lot more into that style. And Yakov said that I can choreograph my own short this season!"

Victor's been experimenting with making his own galas for at least a year now. Chris isn't sure if he wants to try choreography, yet; so far, he's been happy tweaking the programs other people have made with the help of Josef. Victor seems to be bursting with creativity, and more and more interested in trying everything involved in skating. He's probably done coaching of little kids, too (so has Chris, and he likes it – the kids are amusing and enthusiastic), and Chris won't be surprised if next year he tries his hand at composing next.

"And Madame Lilia will do the other one, right?" Probably the one with the music Victor just showed him, Chris thinks. It seems like her favorite style. Victor's worked with other choreographers, too, but he always has at least one of his programs from her.

Victor looks down at his costume sketch. He fingers the notebook for a moment. "I don't know if she will." Before Chris can ask who else he might work with (he and Victor have talked about dream collaborations before, and surely Victor could get a program from anyone), he turns his face back into Chris's shirt. "She and Yakov are getting divorced."

"Oh."

Victor is silent. Chris wraps an arm around him and murmurs a few kind things, hoping it helps.

He doesn't know anything about Victor's family situation, except that he never wants to talk about it. When asked in interviews, he's avoided the subject, or said a few generic things about his parents supporting his early skating at the most. Even his Wikipedia article doesn't have anything to say about them.

Victor is much more candid when it comes to Yakov and Lilia, whether it's stories of how he bugged them into something, or stories of times he impressed them, or stories of them helping him with non-skating things, or stories of them showing affection to Makkachin. Chris has suspected for a while that he's one of those kids who mostly grew up in the rink, and basically got adopted by his coaches. Chris had a couple of friends growing up who were sort of like that, whose parents were busy or just not that great, and they would spend all day at the rink when they didn't have school.

He wonders if that was why Victor was pestering him to visit in Russia.

It feels like a long time before Victor sighs and props his head up again. "Maybe she'll do it anyway. If not, I can find someone else to work with."

"Yeah," says Chris.

"It's just weird," Victor says. "They've always been the old married couple coaches. They've been like that since I first started working with them _forever_ ago, and now they're not going to be married anymore. And I don't know if Lilia is going to stay with figure skating. She's been doing a lot more ballet work recently."

"That sounds hard."

"Yeah. It sucks." Victor picks at the ends of his hair, smooshing the strands around. "Thanks. I haven't told anyone else. I dunno if they have, either." He takes a breath. Chris rubs their heads together, trying to transmit some good feelings. "Anyway. You should distract me."

"Distract you as in see if we can find a bakery that's still open, or distract you as in taking your clothes off?"

Victor smiles. It's a better look on him than the gloomy one he had a moment ago. "We can't do both? Chris, you have no imagination."

So they get a couple of pastries to share, and they don't bother to pick the crumbs off of Chris's bed before they wrap themselves up in each other. Victor looks much happier by the time they drop off to sleep, and he seems normal the next day when Chris leaves him to go talk with Josef.

After Chris explains about the other camp, Josef leans back in his chair and puts a hand to his chin. "If you want to go, I don't think it would hurt," he says. "I can't say I like everything about his style, but Feltsman is a good coach, and he also has a skilled team. You could certainly do some work on your technical skills there."

"Victor really wants me to go."

Josef gets a brief look of surprise, before it fades into a smile. "The two of you look to be having fun practicing together. I know friendships can be tough in the competitive world, but they can also help you grow. Especially when it's a close competitor. I've already seen a difference in your concentration after skating on the same ice as him."

Chris has felt it every day, how having someone at his skill level jumping quads at the other side of the rink pushes him, how seeing Victor hop right on the ice makes him stop lazing through the first few minutes of practice. If he wants to look like he belongs in the same ice session as him, he has to skate like it: harder pushes, smoother glides, deeper edges on every move. He's happy to hear that it's making him better already.

They talk it over for a few more minutes – the cost, the schedule. Chris's heart is already set, though. He can tell. He wants it as an opportunity to improve his skating, and he wants more of Victor past the last few days of this camp.

"When I come back," he says, and Josef nods, approving, "I want to work on the quad lutz."

"The toe loop isn't coming very well," Josef grants. "Okay. It's your best jump, and you have one of the better ones in the field. We'll see what you can do."

When the meeting is over, Chris takes a moment to step into the fresh air outside. It's a beautiful day, warm, and he can see some of the other skaters are lolling around on the grass, taking a break. He breaths it in, the smell of sunshine and warm grass, and holds it.

He wonders if the White Nights are as good for kissing as Swiss summer evenings, and if Russian bread is better or if Victor is biased because he grew up with it. He wonders if Victor will act the same around his coach as he does here, and he wonders if he can land the quad lutz by the time of the Olympics.

When he tells Victor, he gets a bevy of promises about things Victor wants to show him. Chris makes him write them down, since he knows Victor will forget otherwise.

A couple of weeks later, Victor welcomes him to Russia with another hug, and while Chris brings him several presents – more chocolate, a small print to hang on his wall – he picks up a last one in Russia after Victor looks around his living room and complains about it being dull. The gift is an unassuming little plant, past its time to bloom. Victor pokes at it when Chris gives it to him. "Only one again?"

"I'm not buying you that many potted plants, Victor. Anyway, don't let Makkachin eat it."

"I won't. But what is it?"

"If you can't tell, then it's a surprise," and Victor laughs.

The hyacinth will bloom next spring, a bundle of bright yellow flowers, not long after – Chris hopes – they'll have stood together on the Olympic podium, sharing smiles as they show off their medals.


End file.
